


does this come in another size?

by memitims



Series: consider ur fav ship [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 23:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1959534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memitims/pseuds/memitims
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the wardrobe adventures of ian and mickey</p>
            </blockquote>





	does this come in another size?

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by bullet point #6 on [this](http://zoroasterperetola.tumblr.com/post/90887735050/yes-but-consider-ur-fav-ship-making-rly-bad) ('yes but consider ur fav ship borrowing each others clothes but they’re both different sizes')

"Yo, Mickey, you shrink or something?"

Mickey raised his eyebrows and turned around, staring Kevin down from behind the bar. "Excuse me?"

"That fucking jacket is practically falling off your shoulders, man. What's the deal?" Kevin asked, amusement coloring his voice. It was way too fucking early in the morning to deal with Kevin's shit. The guy barely even drank coffee, yet was always annoyingly cheerful before 10 a.m.

Mickey resented him for it.

"Don't you have actual important shit to take care of? Like your twins or cleaning the bar? Why you gotta be bothering me about my clothes?"

Kevin laughed. "Mickey, getting you all worked up about something stupid is pretty much my only source of entertainment these days."

Mickey glared at him for a few moments, before tilting his head left and right to look at his shoulders. Kevin was right, the jacket was huge, and also purple, which was definitely not a color he had in his closet, and realization dawned on him. Mickey groaned. 

"Fuckin' Ian," he muttered under his breath. It had been dark in their room when Mickey got dressed, and evidently, he must've grabbed one of Ian's fucking giant sweatshirts by accident. It was big on Ian, for fuck's sake, and Mickey was swimming in it. And it was purple. Which, okay, the color looked good on Ian, but Mickey doubted he could pull it off. 

Kevin laughed, again. Mickey fidgeted a little, because he'd never really learned how to be laughed at, never really had friends he was  _comfortable_ with, wasn't really built to smile when jokes were taken at his expense. Not until Ian and his gang of losers forced themselves into Mickey's life (which Mickey was actually pretty fucking glad about, not that he'd ever admit it). So Mickey took a leap, and laughed at himself a little bit. When he thought it about it, it was actually kinda funny. 

"That Ian's sweatshirt?"

"Dude's messy," Mickey answered, fondly. "Leaves his shit everywhere. Lights were off this morning. So shut the fuck up." He shrugged his shoulders, causing the jacket to slip even further down, and the little drawstrings swung in front of Mickey's face, taunting him. 

"You gonna take it off, or wait for it to fall off?" Kevin reached for a couple of upside-down beer glasses and began to dry them with a rag. Mickey really hoped it was clean, because he drank outta those glasses all the time.

"No," Mickey said, resolutely. "I don't care if it's not my color. I like how it smells."

Kevin grinned at him. "I feel that, dude. Did I ever tell you about that one time I stole one of Vee's shirts and -"

Mickey held up his hand. "I don't even want to fucking know."

\---

There were some things in this world that Mickey was entirely unequipped to deal with. Ian, bulging out of one of Mickey's tank-tops, was a good example. Mickey's brain kinda shut off when he came home to find Ian cooking dinner, Mickey's favorite grey tank stretched across his chest. 

"Hello," Mickey said, stupidly. 

Ian smiled at him, one of his big, dopey ones. Mickey was pretty sure those smiles were one of the first things about Ian he fell in love with. Shit. Mickey was screwed on so many levels. 

Because Ian was smiling at him, but also,  _muscles_. 

"I'm making mac and cheese," Ian announced, like Mickey's brain wasn't sputtering, wasn't extremely conflicted about whether going down on Ian in the kitchen would be appropriate, wasn't going up in goddamn sparks. "That sound good?"

"Yeah," Mickey said, breathlessly. He gulped a little bit, like a fish out of water, filling his lungs with air. It was a stupid metaphor, but something about Ian made him think about weird shit, like metaphors, and kissing just for the hell of it, and being part of a family. It was goddamn ridiculous. "That my tank-top?"

"Dude, yeah, sorry, it's too hot for anything else and I don't have any here." Ian was completely oblivious and Mickey was drowning. 

"S'kay," he grunted. "Accidentally grabbed your sweatshirt this morning. You're a fucking giant, you know that?"

"You love it," Ian laughed, turning away from the stove, raising himself up on his toes to stand at his full height. Mickey grinned, and pushed at Ian's chest playfully. Even when he was, er, frustrated, Ian made him open up, made him relax, made him do stupid shit just because he could. Mickey still hadn't figured out what kind of fucking magic Ian had that made Mickey feel like this, made him want to have this, forever, made him act silly and stupid and fucking carefree, but he knew he didn't want it to stop.

"Damn straight. But I think I like my shirt on you even more."

"Honestly, I'd bet you'd like it on the floor the best." Ian wriggled his eyebrows. "I'm getting hot, even in this. Cooking is hard work."

"Don't take the shirt off," Mickey hissed. "Do not." He was seriously kicking himself. Apparently, the rational (and hungry) side of his brain was winning tonight. "We'll never get dinner ready if you take it off." Mickey's voice was embarrassingly uneven, but he couldn't help it. Ian was such a little shit. 

Ian rolled his eyes. "You're no fun," he pouted. 

"Get me some fucking pasta," Mickey said. "And then I'll show you fun."

\---

"What the fuck, Ian? Are these my jeans, too?" Mickey's fingers danced over the button and zipper, which seemed stretched way too damn tight to be healthy. 

"Oops," Ian breathed, looking down at Mickey through heavy-lidded eyes (that look drove Mickey nuts). "I forgot to tell you. All my pants were dirty, so I also borrowed your jeans."

"Mhmm." Mickey probably should have noticed this earlier, but he was too distracted by Ian's stupid pecs. "That would be really fucking hot," Mickey said, as he fumbled with the stubborn zipper, " _if_  they weren't so tight and I could fucking get them off you. You wanna give me a little help?"

Ian just laughed. "You're smart, Mickey. I'm sure you'll figure something out."


End file.
